Randoms
by MizzHyde
Summary: Short, unrelated one-shots. Fluff, angst, whatever. Rated M for inevitable lemons.
1. Commuter Crush

**RL has made me her bitch this last month or so and I'm struggling to focus on my unfinished story. In order to keep getting words out, I'm writing some short scenes based on requests and prompts from anyone mad enough to talk to me, plus random thoughts that pop into my brain at inappropriate moments. They might range form a few hundred words to a few thousand. I'm not putting any rules or restrictions on myself, just trying to keep writing something, anything.**

**I'll be posting them here as and when they are ready. If you'd like me to write something for you, PM me your request or idea. I'll consider any genre and pairing, even *cough* het *cough* but can't make any promises. Less conventional pairings are more likely to inspire - I can pretty much guarantee I won't be writing any Edward/Bella...**

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><p><strong>Commuter Crush<strong>

**This first story was written for will_wink and samh_01, two amazingly lovely new Twitter friends. Will likes dancing on the Tube on the way to work, and Sam wishes he could be there to see it, so how could I not write this story? Thanks for the inspiration boys xx**

**Beta lube to HoochieMomma as usual. My love for you is endless and sparkly.**

**AH / Slash / Fluff / M**

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><p>Seth hated working the late shift. It meant he had to travel on the Tube during the early evening rush hour, packed in with unpleasant, sweaty, miserable commuters who had all already finished for the day just as he was starting his. Then, on the way home in the early hours of the morning, he'd either have to put up with drunk clubbers swaying and shouting, scantily dressed girls rubbing terrifyingly up against him, or would end up in a completely empty carriage which always gave him the creeps.<p>

The train pulled alongside the platform and he sighed. It was absolutely crammed to the gills. He glanced up at the electronic board to see if he could afford to wait for the next one without missing the start of his shift, but there was a gap of six minutes and he'd left it too late to risk it. He shuffled forward resignedly with the other victims and squeezed into the stuffy space under the arms of the already squashed passengers. He could get no further than the middle of the vestibule, but despite turning around he couldn't raise an arm to reach out to hold on to anything. He shuffled his feet apart as much as he could to stabilise his balance, and braced his legs for the lurch that would come as the train started to move.

Only seven stops, he thought, as he inevitably wobbled as the train left the station. He tried to breathe shallowly so as not to inhale too much of the stench of day-old boredom and perspiration. The only sound was the rattle and whine of the creaky carriage, and a tinny pulse from someone's headphones right behind him. He cursed himself for not putting his own earbuds in before he had got on the train; there was no way he could retrieve them from his messenger bag now.

He swayed alarmingly again as the train pulled in to the next stop. Not surprisingly, no-one got out, and a few more desperate bodies squeezed themselves in. He was pushed further back until he was almost leaning on the person standing behind him. He turned his head as much as possible and muttered a pointless apology, barely able to catch sight of the man's face. He realised belatedly that the man he was currently half-pressed against couldn't hear his apology, as he was the owner of the headphones that he could still hear chirping above the noise of the train.

But the glimpse he caught before he had to unwind his neck was worth the effort. He was definitely worth looking at. Dark hair, spiked into messy peaks. A faint shadow of stubble along a sharp jawline. A black T-shirt clinging to sculpted arms, one raised overhead, long fingers grasping the rail. Eyes closed, lost in his music.

Suddenly Seth didn't feel remotely sorry about the cramped conditions. He turned his body slightly, hoping for another peek, but at that exact moment the train started to move and found himself shoved further into the deliciously hard body behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, at a slightly easier angle now, and saw that the man's eyes had snapped open; he was caught in an intense, surprised stare. There was an awkward moment as they assessed each other, acutely aware of the hot, damp contact between their shirts; then the man's perfect thin lips curled into a mischievous smile, and he closed his eyes again.

Seth turned away, finding his own mouth mirroring the satisfied smirk, and he shifted his feet again to find a firmer contact with the chest behind him. As the train rattled along, he became aware that the man was moving, not simply being shaken by the movement of the carriage, but in time with the _tsktsktsk_ coming from his music player. It was little more than a sway, and Seth enjoyed the feeling of the gentle undulation, dragging his connected body along with it. He wondered if the man even knew he was doing it, or whether he was simply compelled to move by the music itself.

At the second stop, the carriage emptied out some. It wasn't enough to be able to move freely, but Seth could no longer justify pressing in so hard and reluctantly eased off the contact. On the plus side, he could now turn half way around and get a good look at his dancing companion.

The man's eyes were still closed, so Seth checked him out shamelessly. The T-shirt that clung to the tops of his arms was also doing a pretty good job of showing off the smooth lines of the chest and stomach that Seth had been enjoying feeling against his back. It was tucked in to a pair of skinny jeans; Seth tried not to stare at the zip area too much, dragging his eyes back to the face that had first captivated him. Strong cheekbones, straight nose, perfect, thin, pink lips. Maybe the rush hour wasn't such a pain after all.

At the third stop, to Seth's delight, the carriage filled up again, and he resumed his previous position leaning lightly against the still dancing man. In hindsight, by this point, he could easily have been holding on to a rail, but it simply hadn't occurred to him to grab on to anything. So when the train started up again with a particularly violent jolt, he completely lost his balance.

For a long moment he felt himself tip, unable to move his feet to get his legs underneath him, certain he was about to crash into a dozen tightly packed commuters and totally embarrass himself. Just as he was about to pass the point of no return, he felt strong hands grab his hips and yank him upright. There was no doubt who those hands belonged to, as he was pulled firmly back into place against the swaying body of the man he now thought of as DancingGuy.

He wanted to turn to look at him but there was simply no room to move. He felt the grip on his hips loosen slightly and thought – _hell, no_ – quickly placing his own hands over the top. DancingGuy stopped mid-sway, freezing under the sensation of skin on skin. Seth swallowed, and hoped, and pressed his fingers in between, tangling their hands together. His pulse was racing and he felt giddy with the sheer craziness of rubbing up against a stranger on a train. DancingGuy still wasn't moving, so he started swaying a little himself, having no idea if he was in time with the music. He could feel a nervous laugh bubbling up inside, but before it could escape, his rhythm was interrupted as DancingGuy took over the timing of their movements. Seth closed his eyes, having no doubt that the other man's were still firmly shut.

At the fourth stop, Seth wasn't quite sure what would happen. His fingers were still laced through those guiding his hips in time to music he couldn't hear, and his back was pleasantly welded to the chest behind him, but the carriage was emptying out again. If DancingGuy released him he knew he would have to step away. As they both instinctively adjusted their balance to cope with the jerk as the train stopped, Seth took a deep breath and held still. More dancing, or was that the end of the song?

Something else. He was pulled back sharply, significantly increasing the contact which had previously been just his shoulders and back, but now extended down to his ass and legs. A thigh was shoved between his slightly spread legs and his breath escaped in a rush, just so he could gasp it in again. As the train pulled out of the station he was thrown completely off balance, leaning back with no control over his movements, yet securely supported and in no danger of falling.

The dancing started again, but this time he could feel an unmistakable hardness pressed into his backside, and the swaying had turned into grinding. He pushed back as hard as he could, given that he had next to no purchase on the floor. He felt his eyes closing again and he pictured the dreamy look on DancingGuy's face, wondering if his own smile was identical. He shifted his messenger bag further across his front to cover up the growing tightness at the front of his jeans.

At the pause for the fifth stop, DancingGuy cranked it up again. He leaned forward until Seth could feel his warm breath over the back of his neck, then rested his chin on Seth's shoulder. Seth's ear was now so close to the headphones he could clearly hear the beat of the music, sounding vaguely familiar, throbbing in time with the insistent body against his back.

By the sixth stop, Seth thought he might explode. His breath was coming in short gasps and he could occasionally hear a low moan in his ear that would coincide with a particularly intense thrust against him.

When the train started up again, Seth realised that the next stop was his. He seriously entertained the thought of simply not getting off, just staying on the train, pressed up gloriously against the man behind him. But really, what was he going to do? Carry on grinding until he jizzed in his pants and then have to find his way back from some random Tube station, having totally missed his shift?

The train started to slow and he reluctantly unlaced the fingers of one hand and reached over to the nearest rail to pull himself forward. DancingGuy clung on for a moment, inhaling and running his nose up Seth's neck, making him shiver, but he stepped back and helped Seth get his balance on his feet again. As they pulled into the station Seth stepped away and turned, meeting his eyes for only the second time in the whole journey.

DancingGuy was smiling widely, the hands which had been guiding the dance now shoved firmly in his jeans pockets, blatantly adjusting himself through the fabric. Seth grinned back, but felt a rush of disappointment as he realised it was over. Could he give him his number? The doors opened behind him and it was too late. Probably a stupid idea anyway. He nodded his head and turned away, wondering how the hell he was going to get rid of his hard-on before he had to change into his uniform.

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><p>Seth didn't work the night shift again for two weeks. As he elbowed his way through the crowd of disgruntled office workers he felt an irrational surge of anticipation. He knew the chances of running into DancingGuy again were so small as to be non-existent, but he couldn't help it. He'd been thinking about him every day, running wilder and wilder scenarios in his head every time he took a shower. Or lay in bed. Or got bored at work. He alternated between deeply regretting not getting the man's name, let alone his number, and berating himself for not being able to accept it for the fabulous one-off experience that it had been.<p>

The train doors slid open and he shoved his way in, noting with disappointment the usual mix of bored, miserable, rumpled passengers. He shook his head and stuffed his own earbuds in, turning up his music. He would have to dance by himself.

In the early hours of the following morning, Seth waited for another train to take him towards home. He was bone weary following a gruelling shift, and the gap between trains was much longer at this time of night. He dared not sit down on one of the few uncomfortable metal seats that were dotted along the platform, in case he fell asleep and missed the train completely. It was late enough that at least he should be spared the drunken party goers.

Sure enough, when the train finally arrived, he could see as the carriages flashed past that there were barely any passengers on board. Too tired to move from the spot where he was waiting, he boarded through the nearest set of doors and slumped into a seat without looking up. Empty carriages made him uncomfortable, but eye contact with solitary travellers was worse. He felt his eyes closing almost immediately, but as the train started up again he forced them wide open, determined not to drift off. He sensed movement at the far end of the carriage, so focused on the floor, pointedly ignoring whoever might be sharing the space.

When the train jerked to a stop, he realised he'd been almost asleep again. He flinched upright and found himself staring at a man who was standing right in front of him. Or more accurately, staring at the zip of a tight pair of jeans that were at eye-level just a few inches from his face.

He flipped through a number of emotions in just a few seconds – startled, intrigued, annoyed – why the hell did this guy, and his perfectly slim hips, have to be standing so close in an otherwise empty carriage? It was only as he started to look up that he realised he could hear the faint _tsktsktsk_ of music through headphones, and that the hips in front of him were swaying in time with the beat.

He sat back abruptly in his seat and looked up to see the smiling face of DancingGuy looking down at him, his head slightly to one side in a question.

Seth was now quite wide awake.

He was aware that the goofy grin on his face was probably making him look like an idiot but he couldn't bring himself to care. DancingGuy was also looking ridiculously pleased with himself, wiggling a little more blatantly to make sure Seth got the point.

Seth wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. He started to rise to his feet, but DancingGuy pushed him firmly back into the seat with a hand placed in the centre of his chest. Seth was puzzled, and a little disappointed, until DancingGuy took a step back and winked at him.

DancingGuy closed his eyes and and his movements became more purposeful. He wasn't just swaying now, he was dancing for real, moving his feet, circling his hips, running his hands over his chest and stomach, turning his back to shake his ass in Seth's face. Seth was laughing and gaping and totally astonished. And very, very turned on. DancingGuy turned all the way around to face him again, his eyes open now, his expression expectant.

Seth made to get up again and this time DancingGuy offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet, planting a foot between Seth's and mashing their bodies together. Seth gasped but recovered quickly, twisting his fingers out of the other man's grasp so he could instead slide his hand under his invitingly open jacket. DancingGuy smiled and tugged one earbud out, offering it to Seth, who hesitated only a second before accepting it and pushing it into his ear. Immediately the sounds of the rattling empty train carriage were drowned out by a smooth, thumping bass that was impossible to resist. Maybe it was the arms draped over his shoulders, pressing their chests together as he slipped into the mesmerizing swaying dance, but Seth found himself following the movements as easily as breathing.

Breathing however, quickly became more complicated. He had to concentrate hard to keep his balance; DancingGuy was holding him securely, but they weren't wedged in amongst a crowd of commuters this time and the train was shaking them all over the place. He spread his legs a little further to try to regain some control, but that just made DancingGuy thrust his thigh harder in between.

It was impossible to think. The music was sweeping him along, the sensation of the hard chest against his, the leg between his thighs, the rubbing, grinding groin circling over his own. He was hard and straining in his jeans, and every thump of the beat brought him into deliciously aching contact with the matching hardness pressing into him. He was breathing heavily and probably moaning although he couldn't hear himself over the music.

The carriage swayed alarmingly and they both clung to each other, trying to stay balanced. As they swung back into a more upright position, DancingGuy brought his lips down to suck gently at Seth's neck, and he thought he might lose it completely. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, pressure, movement, licking, wet, hard, breathe, breathe, breathe dammit...

The driver slammed on the brakes at the next stop and there was no way the two men could stay connected. They were flung apart, Seth tumbling towards the floor, the earbud popping from his ear leaving him suddenly bereft of music and heat and contact. He recovered at the last moment, preventing an undignified sprawl by pushing on the seat. When he glanced round to see what had happened to DancingGuy, he found he was somehow still standing easily, not holding on to anything, holding out the earbud again.

Seth took it from him, feeling irrationally embarrassed, wanting to get back to the eyes closed, thought-free humping, without the awkward eye contact. He wondered how long they would last this time, looking around to see if he could somehow anchor himself so as not to get thrown about like a ragdoll again.

DancingGuy had a better idea. He placed a hand on Seth's chest and pushed him back onto the bench seat again, only this time he followed, straddling his lap, planting his knees either side of Seth's thighs. He tilted his head to one side again, as if to ask if this was okay. They still hadn't exchanged a single word. Seth grinned and popped the earbud back in by way of an answer, leaning his head back on the low shelf behind the seat.

DancingGuy followed his movement again, this time leaning over to kiss Seth full on the mouth. Seth was startled but the music was sweeping them back up into the dance and the kiss was simply an extension of they way their bodies fit together. Seth pulled firmly on DancingGuys hips, grinding them both together, and opened his mouth to the insistent lips and tongue.

There didn't seem to be any breaks in the music that drove them forward. Seth was vaguely aware of the train stopping and starting several times but he couldn't bring himself to lift his head to check where they were. He wasn't going to cut things short this time around, even if he ended up in the middle of nowhere sleeping on a bench all night. He didn't know if it was the situation or the music or perfect lips attached to his, but it all felt completely right, and he didn't want it to stop.

He didn't know how much time had passed when DancingGuy released his mouth and sat back, his fingers lightly tracing Seth's jaw, eyes heavy with lust. His fingers ran up to Seth's ear and he gently popped out the earbud, doing the same to the one in his own ear. Seth was confused, softening his grip on the man's hips. The train was slowing down but he had no idea where they were, and he wasn't nearly ready to stop. Was DancingGuy going to just get up and walk away? Now? Right in the middle of the dance?

As the the brakes started to screech and the lights of the station became visible, DancingGuy slid off his lap and gestured to the door.

"Your stop, I believe," he said. Seth twisted his head and saw that it was, in fact, the right station. His elation that DancingGuy had remembered where he had got on the train the last time was tempered with the disappointment that he was effectively being dismissed. DancingGuy offered his hand and once more pulled Seth to his feet.

As the train jerked to a halt, Seth's mind scrambled, trying to work out what the hell to do without looking desperate or pathetic. He edged towards the doors as they slid open, and then realised that DancingGuy was still holding his hand, following him as he moved. He looked up from their joined hands to his face, and saw the familiar, questioning, expectant expression.

Seth swallowed his pride.

"Come with me?" he asked.

DancingGuy smiled widely.

"Definitely."


	2. Fever Dream

**Fe****ver Dream is a famous short story by Ray Bradbury. If you know the story, you will see that it is not just the title that I have unashamedly stolen. His story is much creepier, and less smexy than mine. And eleventy billion times better. Obv.**

**This probably doesn't actually qualify as fanfic. No characters are named. Just random self-indulgent weirdness that leaks from my brain. It was written for my imaginary friend Nik.**

**I never, ever click on songs and playlists that authors post with fic. But, y'know, if you like that sort of thing, you could listen to this while you read.**

**http:/ www . youtube . com / watch?v=xAXOblSkQmQ&feature=fvwrel (delete the spaces)**

**The narrator is female.**

**AH / Het (gasp) / M**

**YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT THIS IS NOT SLASH. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. *giggles***

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><p>I'm asleep.<p>

I'm awake.

It's so hot. The air is heavy and damp. I'm sure I opened the windows last night. I'm naked under the heavy blankets, curled in on myself in the darkness. My skin is slick with sweat, legs sliding against each other. All I can hear is my own breath, rasping painfully in and out.

Too hot.

I throw off the blankets and a chill breeze hits my shivering flesh. I must have left the windows open last night. I reach behind me to drag them back over me. I can move my arm but the rest of my body is formless clay, slowly melting into shapelessness, losing definition, heavy, wet, hot.

I'm awake.

I'm asleep.

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><p>The blankets are too heavy. They are damp, pressing down on me, smothering me. I try to lift my head a fraction, searching for cool air to drag into my burning lungs. It's too hard. Too heavy.<p>

My hair is plastered to my head, clinging to my neck. It feels sticky, uncomfortable. I wonder if my arm still works, if I can raise it far enough to push the hair off my skin. I burrow my hand upwards under the blanket, scraping ineffectively at the damp tendrils a few times before I give up. Too hard. Too heavy.

I'm dreaming.

I hear a low chuckle behind my head. Gentle fingertips collect the hair that hangs across my face, smoothing it backwards.

I'm not dreaming. It's you.

Blunt nails dig at the slippery skin on my neck, persuading the sticking hair to move, a few strands at a time. I smile into my pillow, unable to raise my head or acknowledge your sweet gesture. When you are satisfied that all the locks are swept away, you run the pads of your fingers over the exposed skin.

I shiver.

I feel your breath before your lips touch me. Your sweet breath, which should be so hot as it flows over me, feels cool against my burning flesh.

Sweet kisses.

Sweet, sweet, slow kisses, your mouth open, lips and tongue tasting, my neck, my jaw, licking the salty sheen from my skin. I want to turn, to capture those lips, to return the tender, loving caresses with my own, but I can't move. My body is clay, damp and slick, compressed under the heavy blankets, hot, formless, still. All I can do is submit to your attention, waves of heat washing over me.

I'm asleep.

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><p>I'm awake.<p>

The blankets are too heavy, heavier than before. They press against my side, weighing me down. The weight on my side moves - oh, it's not the blankets. It's your arm, resting on top of me in the dip of my waist. The heat behind me is you, not touching but close, only connected where your heavy arm pins me down, sinking into the clay. It's comforting to have you near, feeling your limb forming the curve, defining its shape.

Your hand lays flat on my stomach and starts to move. You are stroking lazily, up and down, swirling, drawing patterns, decorating me. Your passes get longer, reaching up higher, until you can cup your palm under a breast. You mold each one in turn, making them the perfect size to fit in your hand, teasing out the nipples with your finger and thumb, sculpting the malleable flesh to your exact requirements.

I shudder with pleasure.

Your hand feels delicious as it sweeps back down, erasing the patterns on my stomach, rubbing the damp surface to make it flat and smooth. Your thumb trails over my hip, exploring the bone that juts out, making circles around it, making sure it doesn't dissolve into the clay beneath.

The shudder is on the inside.

Your fingers trace the crease where my leg meets my body. My knees are bent and my legs pressed together. You push the top leg down, dividing the clay to make two separate limbs, one bent, one straight. You reach into where they join, where the clay is soft, liquid, melting against your fingers.

A quiet sigh of surprise escapes me.

I can still feel your breath on my face; I inhale it and the shape you have given me starts to come alive. I can move, just a little, shifting against your searching fingertips as you open me up. More shivers run through me as you scoop me into shallow folds, splayed out under your hand. You trace every line, returning again and again to the point that sends flickers of heat deep inside me.

You move closer until your whole body is touching mine, my back fitting flush with the contour of your chest. I am soft, pliable, yielding against your solidity, until we fit together like puzzle pieces, made for each other.

I can feel your hard cock pressing against the curve of my ass, and I know we can fit together even closer. It becomes a need, for you to be part of me. You have sculpted the outside of my body; now I need you to define the inside.

But you don't move, other than your fingers, rubbing maddening, wet circles over my sensitive flesh, dipping inside me for brief moments, exploring every inch, pinching and pressing. I can't decide if I need to press forward onto your hand, or back into your body. I need both; I need you everywhere.

I inhale again, and you have given me a voice.

Please, please, please.

I hear you laugh again, and the sound fills me up with joy.

You murmur into my ear.

Anything, anything for you. You were made for me. You are mine.

I can finally feel the tip of your cock right where I want it, and my new body surges. You press forward and I press back. Smooth, wet, perfect, slowly filling me up, making me whole.

I am alive. I am awake. I am complete.

We are still for a moment.

It's so hot in here, so hard to breathe. My chest is heaving, dragging heavy, wet air into my body. Your mouth is open, your lips against my shoulder. Your teeth will leave indentations in the smooth new clay there.

You press in harder, grinding up into me. I moan and press back, needing more. I cover your hand with mine and push your fingers firmly to where I need them. The rocking of your hips becomes more insistent; I feel you slipping out and pushing in, first just inches, out and in, building up until you are almost all the way out before you thrust. Your rhythm is steady and smooth, each new stroke opening me further.

Your hand slides away from me but it doesn't matter because my own fingers are stroking faster, pressing harder, movements becoming ragged and desperate, sparks beginning to form. The heat is overwhelming, threatening to consume me from inside and out, and I welcome it. I want to burn. Clay needs to be fired so that nothing can change it again.

You grip the hipbone that you so carefully sculpted, sliding your length out of me once more and then pulling me back sharply, slamming home. Over and over you crash into me, a rage of friction and heat and need, until I ignite, bursting into flame. I can hear the voice you gave me screaming as my body ripples in the haze of fire, clenching around you, holding you in, keeping you where you belong. I feel you pulsing as you still behind me, fingers digging in, teeth biting down, leaving your mark at the last moment before the clay sets.

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><p>I feel different. New.<p>

I think maybe I had a fever, but the fire has burned out it out and the heat is receding. There is a cool breeze flowing over my skin. I must have left the window open last night. I curl into your arms and sink into blissful, dreamless sleep.

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><p>I'm awake.<p>

The room is cool, but I am comfortably warm; the blanket feels light resting on top of me. I can turn easily, missing your weight, feeling for your heat pressed against me. The sheet is chilled beneath my back as I roll on to it. You are not there to warm it.

My skin is dry. My head is hazy as I try to piece together my dreams. You were here, loving me, weren't you?

Your hand drew my contours, my wet clay flesh easily flowing under your skilled fingers. I couldn't have dreamed that. Your thoughts burrowed into my brain, as easily as your body claimed me. I was formless and you defined me.

So, where are you now? What is the point of me, without you?

I stand. I am neither hot nor cold. The blanket falls away and I regard your creation. I search for your mark on my shoulder, but I can't see it.

I'm awake. I remember now.

You weren't here. You were never here.

I am not clay, after all.

I am stone.


End file.
